


bury in vain (cause the pain's got us falling apart)

by archetypically



Series: tumblr prompt fills [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Prompt Fic, Timeskip, Tumblr Prompt, the world is terrible and everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archetypically/pseuds/archetypically
Summary: It does let her know, though, that she isn’t in this alone. And for the moment, that’s enough.Or: Natasha and Steve try to pick up the pieces.





	bury in vain (cause the pain's got us falling apart)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #12 (in grief) from [this list](https://novasforce.tumblr.com/post/186562276945/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a).

The sun’s starting to get into her eyes through the open window, making her have to squint at the punching bag in front of her as she prepares her stance, but she doesn’t need that to remind her that she’s been at this for hours; her fingers are stiff when she stretches them out, and they practically protest against her when she curls them into fists again.

But a little pain and stiffness have never mattered to her -- the Red Room beat concerns like that out of her a long time ago. Her body is only a tool, she’d once been taught, one that can be pushed beyond superficial limits for the sake of the mission. Until it’s done, nothing matters except the mission. The job.

The world, she thinks, the world that still needs someone to do something to try to protect it, that needs her to do this _job_, doesn’t care how she feels.

She inhales, and sends her fist colliding into the bag.

_Wham_.

“Think you’ve murdered that punching bag enough for one day.”

The sound of a familiar voice coming from a few steps away makes her stop, the bag swinging on its hook with a _creak_. Not many people can sneak up on her, but over the years, Steve has learned his lessons well. It’s a point of pride for her, even if, at the moment, it brings on the slightest twinge of annoyance.

“Isn’t that a little hypocritical, coming from you?” she asks as the bag comes back around, reaching out to grab it and hold it still. “I seem to remember a time when we went through at least ten of these in a week, because _someone_ kept punching holes in them.”

When she turns, he shrugs, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Innocent until proven guilty, Nat.”

Right now, she could actually punch said smirk off of his stupid face.

The thought must be evident in her expression somehow, because Steve _laughs_, like the asshole he is. It’s brief and quiet, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s a laugh all the same.

Some days, that’s a monumental achievement.

Before she can say anything, he holds up a paper bag like it’s a peace offering. “I brought takeout.” It’s a good one, actually; her stomach growls right on cue. Even if she could keep pushing, she _does_ need to eat eventually. “And a movie.”

She makes quick work of unwrapping her hands, unceremoniously tosses the wrappings to the floor as she turns away and steps toward him. “DVD. How ancient,” she says as she peers at the box in his other hand. “Thought we’d traded in the Jurassic period for Antiques Roadshow, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Ha ha,” Steve fires back dryly, emphasizing each part of that as an individual word.

They don’t say anything else as they walk from the gym back toward the compound’s main building, and their dinner conversation is as light and banal as it usually is when they eat cheap takeout together like this. That’s been life for the past eight months -- make it to the end of the day, don’t dive into anything too deeply, wake up and do it all over again. If she doesn’t think about it too hard, she can almost convince herself that this feels normal.

(Almost.

This is the problem with stepping out of the shadows: once you leave them behind, once you trade lies for the truth, you can’t go back.)

There’s no one here at all except them, but they still share the middle of the couch in the common area, legs and arms touching for the movie’s entire two hours and change. They laugh at all the places they should, and some they probably shouldn’t, and more than once, she thinks that she’s really glad that Steve had decided to come by; it’s nice to have a friend sometimes, and she feels at least ten times lighter.

Things like that, of course, aren’t meant to last.

“Sam would’ve hated that.” She’s cognizant of the words just when they leave her mouth, at a point that’s too late, and, instantly, the air becomes heavy around them, in all the worst familiar ways. Her chest hollows out, and her throat goes dry.

Her eyes sting, and she drops her gaze down to the fabric of the couch, silently willing herself to get it together.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, voice thick in a way that suggests he’s trying to do the same thing. “Yeah, he would have.”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she glances up, eyes searching his. He looks exhausted, probably more exhausted than she feels; she wonders when he last actually slept. There are lines on his face that she’s sure weren’t there a year ago, with likely more than a fair few on her own to match, too. It’s been a long eight months, and a long couple of years since the mess with the Accords before that, and the wear is all over them.

But even through all of that, she thinks, they’re both still here.

She doesn’t know who moves first, doesn’t know which of them is the one to actually take the step to cross some metaphorical Rubicon, but eventually, they meet in the middle, his lips pressed against hers, and she’s moving in sync with him.

A part of her thinks that, maybe, this has been a long time coming. But this isn’t a movie, so nothing that’s happening here is a magical fix for the state of the world around them. It doesn’t take away the hollowness in her chest, or the knowledge that tomorrow, billions of people will still be dead and billions of fractured families will still be trying to pick up the pieces. It doesn’t make up for what anyone has lost, and could never hope to.

It does let her know, though, that she isn’t in this alone. And for the moment, that’s enough.


End file.
